


An Unexpected Match

by ohmyfae



Series: Brothel AU [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Many costume changes, Sex, Side appearances by the other Glaives and Cindy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 03:40:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11638173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyfae/pseuds/ohmyfae
Summary: A fill for the kinkmeme! Ignis and Gladio, formerly some of the highest paid sex workers in town, now run the top brothels in Insomnia. When Gladio moves his family business to the same street as Ignis', what started out as a minor rivalry turns into a ridiculous turf war, featuring:-Outrageous themes and multiple costume changes-Bouquets with sinister hidden meanings-Prompto and Noctis learning the lucrative benefits of terrible acting-Intense thirst on all sides-Level 5 unlocked backstoriesAnd more!





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (See the note at the bottom for a quick disclaimer!)

The door to the bedroom of Ignis Scientia, manager of one of the top brothels in Lucis and terror before his third cup of coffee, was sensible and plain. There were no plaques on the door like those of the main suites on the second floor, and none of the usual gilding or drapery that made the rooms in Shiva’s Secret catch the eye. It could be, and often was, mistaken as a storage closet. 

Noctis Caelum hesitated, knuckles an inch from the polished wood. 

“I can see your shadow under the door, Noct,” drawled a low voice from within. Noctis cursed silently and turned the handle.

Ignis was sitting at his desk, poring through a sheaf of paperwork in the light of his open window. He wore a blue silk robe that slid down his shoulders to pool at his arms, and his thigh-high stockings were perfectly lined and smooth. Noct, who tore his tights whenever he could be bothered to wear them, felt a sting of bitterness at the flawless way Ignis could look both under-dressed and put-together at the same time. 

_Dishabille,_ Ignis had said once. The perfect blend of carelessness and craft. The most Noct could hope for himself was a half-hearted attempt at disheveled.

“Don’t stand there, Noct,” Ignis said. He pushed his glasses up his nose. “While I can’t say I don’t enjoy your company, I know there’s little that can bring you here before noon.”

“You know, you can say _What’s up?_ like a normal person,” Noct said, closing the door. Ignis made a disapproving sound and shrugged. “So, don’t get mad.”

“I’m perfectly calm, Noctis,” Ignis said. He signed the bottom of a form and filed it in his out-tray. 

“It’s the Flower Shop.”

Ignis’ hand froze. Noct fiddled with the folded piece of paper in his pocket, and pulled it out. Ignis was still facing his paperwork, but Noct had the impression that he wasn’t actually looking at it anymore. Not a good sign. 

“Please,” Ignis said. “Tell me that it’s, oh, infested with termites, or behind the code for fire safety laws…”

“Okay, first? Tone it down, Specs.” Noct was the only employee in Shiva’s Secret who could talk to Ignis like this, which was why he’d been volunteered to deliver the news in the first place. “Second, they’re starting up a new special.”

“Really? How delightful.” Ignis held out a hand. Noct passed the paper over to him. Ignis held it like he would hold a dead rat, pinched between forefinger and thumb and held as far from his body as possible.

“Ah,” he said. “They’re serving _cakes.”_

Noct squirmed. The Flower Shop was the _second_ top brothel in Lucis, which Ignis probably wouldn’t have minded if they weren’t just down the street and run by Gladiolus Amicitia, the latest in a long line of men and women who’d run the brothel since its first iteration several hundred years before. It had originally been a legitimate florist’s, but when an Amicitia built up a second floor and turned it into a house of ill repute, the locals didn’t bother changing the name. It was and always would be the Flower Shop, a staple in Insomnia’s night-life, and the Amicitias had embraced the theme so thoroughly that they even named their _children_ after flowers. 

When Gladiolus took over, he decided they needed to expand. So he bought up some land at the end of the street, right in view of Shiva’s Secret, and built a three-story brothel complete with awnings, window-boxes bursting with blooms, and a wrought-iron sign over the door framed with ivy. 

It looked pretty cool, in Noct’s opinion, but he knew better than to tell Ignis. Ever since construction started a few years ago, Ignis had been clear in his opinion on Gladio and his business. So he’d expanded the kitchen in Shiva’s, set up a second café for the more legitimate side of their brothel, and created clever hidden menus for the business he ran in the upper floors.

And now, the Flower Shop was selling cakes. 

“This is a deliberate attack,” Ignis said, dropping the paper menu into his trash bin. He sat in fury for a moment, staring dimly at the painting of the brothel’s imaginary Madam that hung over his desk, and snapped his fingers. “That’s it. Noctis, do you have any clients this afternoon?”

“It was gonna be my day off,” Noctis said. Ignis stood and took off his robe. He hung it up on a hook and opened his closet door wide. 

“Wonderful,” he said. “Get dressed to go out. We need to stop by a florist’s. A proper florist’s.”

Noct felt a stirring of disquiet in his stomach. “Uh, why’s that, Specs?”

“Because,” Ignis said, whipping out a magnificent dove-grey vest and a light purple dress-shirt. “ _We_ are going to hold a flower festival.”

 

-

 

“Say that again.”

Prompto Argentum stepped from one foot to another, hands twisted behind his back. His new maid costume, part of Gladiolus Amicitia’s vision for the new cake and tea special, was a little tight at the waist, and the stockings _itched._

“A flower festival, Gladio,” he repeated. “The workers, right, they all have flowers on their wrists that have different meanings, and customers have to buy flowers at the door and, and they match them up… I mean, it sounds kind of cute—“

“It’s cutting into our territory,” Gladio said. He was standing at the railing of the third floor of the Flower Shop, right outside his office door. The office was barely used except as a place to throw paperwork that only got done in a frenzy at the last minute, but there were crystal and glass flowers trailing up the frame, with gladiolus blossoms at the top. Prompto looked at them, rather than at Gladio himself, who was muttering darkly.

“You did do the cake thing,” Prompto said. 

“Yes, but that’s not… that’s _cake._ ” Gladio made a sweeping gesture. “And Shiva’s Secret? The hell does that mean? It’s just a, a whorehouse with delusions of grandeur.”

“Not like us, though,” Prompto said. He snuck a glance at Gladio, who was watching him warily.

“Alright,” Gladio said. “But this flower shit is obviously meant to undermine us. A flower festival? That _bastard._ When is it starting?”

Prompto twisted his skirt, quietly wishing that there’d been enough tuxedos to go around. “Uh. Tomorrow night?”

Gladio leaned on the railing, steepling his fingertips. 

“Prompto,” he said. 

“Uh, right here, big guy.”

“You’re new in town, yeah?”

Prompto shrugged. Technically, he wasn’t. Before he applied to work at the Flower Shop, he’d been hustling for a pimp on the south side of town. None of the clients he had there were the kind who visited places like Shiva’s or the Flower Shop, so for all intents and purposes, Prompto was a new face. It took him only a few weeks to be one of Gladio’s top employees, and he was pretty sure that one of his regulars was a member of the city council. 

“Sure,” he said.

“Great,” said Gladio. He smiled and clapped a large hand on his shoulder. “Tell me, Prompto. You ever been to a festival before?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick heads-up! If the premise to this seems familiar, I’m way ahead of you. I wrote this as a fill for this prompt on the kinkmeme: 
> 
> _Hooker AU. Gladio and Ignis, both very accomplished hookers-turned-managers, run whorehouses catering to high-class clientele on two ends of the same street. They have a history with a good side of UST, loathe each other, and try increasingly wild marketing stunts to try to put each other out of business. Up to the filler if/how they finally manage to get it together and hook up._
> 
> They also asked for Prompto and Noctis to work for Gladio and Ignis, and to be sent in undercover to scope out the competition (Promptis optional). I noticed that the premise was similar to other rivals-to-lovers with a dash of Promptis prompts (yes, there are more than one), so I was careful to let the similarities end there when I wrote this.


	2. Chapter 2

String lights criss-crossed the ceiling of Shiva’s first floor café and wound around the vases of cherry blossoms that lined the walls. The lights were tinted a faint pink, and the rosy glow extended to the street outside, where a line of would-be patrons was starting to form. 

Ignis smoothed out the front of his kimono, which featured a pattern of gold peacocks, and surveyed the main dining area. A pianist—Lunafreya, one of Noct’s old friends from Tenebrae—was playing softly, though Ignis had a sneaking suspicion that she was playing a slower, modified version of one of the pop songs Noct always swore he never listened to. His employees were already out in force: The café staff were in their usual uniforms, but those who were scheduled to work the upper floors were all in kimonos themselves, with flowers clipped to their hair or wrists. The kimonos weren’t the real thing, of course, not like Ignis’ own. That would be too stifling, and not many clients wanted to spend several minutes trying to unpeel every layer. They were little more than modified nightgowns, but they looked the part, and that was what mattered. 

Ignis stepped down off the small dais behind the piano, and smiled serenely as he passed by his employees. He stopped occasionally to adjust the fit of a collar, a sash, and to tuck loose hairs out of the way or whisper words of encouragement. Shiva’s was filling up fast, and he could already see quite a number of new faces. How many came from _Gladiolus’_ establishment, he wondered? Ignis’ smile grew, and he touched the soft petals of his own flower, which alone had no match to the ones they sold at the door. 

 

-

 

Prompto stared up at the bouncer of Shiva’s, and tried not to look like he was two seconds away from making a break for Gladio’s.

She was the kind of woman who always left Prompto feeling a little lost and tongue-tied. Commanding, sharp-edged, with light silvery hair tied in a ponytail and a slight bulge in her biceps that implied that she could, without much effort, snap Prompto in half if she wanted to. The slow, bored look she gave him suggested that she didn’t, not yet.

“Just pick a flower, kid, we don’t have all day.”

“Oh. Oh, right.” Prompto picked a chrysanthemum and paid the entrance fee, and the woman jerked her thumb to the door. 

Shiva’s Secret had a front hall that looked like the entrance to an actual house, with a grandfather clock, cherry-wood paneling, and actual wallpaper. Prompto paused to examine a massive oil painting of a woman reclining on a chaise lounge. Her dark bangs were cut severely above her closed eyes, and her lips quirked in a smile. Shiva, maybe? He squinted to read the panel under the painting, but without his glasses it was just a blur. He turned aside, and stepped into the main dining room, flower clutched tight in his hand.

“Hey,” he said, when his eyes adjusted to the pink glare of the lights. “This isn’t bad.”

“Ain’t that a compliment,” said a cheery voice to his right. A blonde woman in a garish yellow kimono stepped up to him. Her kimono was half open, and she was wearing a reddish pink bikini bra underneath. “Let’s see what you got, come on.” She glanced at his flower, and he held it up.

“Ooh, lucky you,” she said. “You’ve got prince charming over there.” She gestured to a man with dark hair and a kimono patterned with dragons. “Have a seat, and he’ll be right with ya.”

“Th-thanks,” Prompto managed, before the girl was off, chattering away to a group of women on a circle of couches in the corner. He moved through the room in a daze, heading for the man with a chrysanthemum shoved haphazardly in his sash. The guy was leaning over another customer, speaking low into his ear, so Prompto sat down at a small table and picked up the menu.

He turned the menu to the side.

His mouth moved as he silently tried to sound the words out.

Finally, Prompto went to grab his phone so he could run this through an online translator, but he came up short. Of _course,_ he’d left his phone with the bouncer. The terrifying one. With the muscles. 

“Just ask for the daily special,” said the man with the chrysanthemum. He dragged a chair next to Prompto and sat down, legs spread a little wider than the kimono should probably allow. Up close, his hair was so black it was almost blue, and he had a narrow jaw made round by locks of hair that framed his cheeks. He rested an elbow on the table and leaned forward.

“There are translations under the price, too,” he said, and jabbed a finger at a smudged grey line on the menu. “But the special’s always good. Ignis bakes it himself, so it runs out fast.”

Prompto dragged his gaze away from the man’s long, heavy lashes. Right. He was there for recon, not to actually _sleep_ with anyone. He cleared his throat. “You mean Ignis like… the owner?”

The man shrugged, and his kimono slipped, baring his shoulder. “I guess. He’s the one decked out like he means it, over there.” He gestured with his chin, and Prompto saw a tall young man with light brown hair slicked back, laughing with a customer at another table. His kimono looked perfect.

“Wow,” he said. 

“Yeah, wow. He makes the rest of us look bad.” The man in the dragon kimono gently pushed the menu down to the table. “So. What are you having?”

Prompto looked from the menu to his face, and mentally calculated, on a scale of one to Weeks of Passive-Aggressive Griping, how pissed Gladio would be if he came back late. 

“Can’t tell you,” he said, with a sideways smile of his own. The man’s brow’s furrowed slightly. “It’s not like I know your name.”

 

-

 

Gladio sat back in one of the couches on the second floor hallway, checking his watch. Prompto should’ve been back by then: Gladio had given him strict instructions. Get in, buy one of their fancy cakes, count the customers, and get out. But two hours had gone by, and Prompto still hadn’t come through the door. 

Not many people had come through the door at _all,_ actually. 

This was a disgrace. The Flower Shop had kept up a steady flow of clientele since before the city had _electricity._ They’d made it through earthquakes, floods, tornadoes, even tropical storms thrown off by the Quay. They should be able to handle something as insignificant as a little competition.

If Ignis could even be called that. Oh, it was clever, opening up the first floor as a café for their off season. Gladio had to give him that. And he’d heard about Ignis before he took over Shiva’s, of course. Ignis was one of the top-paid escorts in the business: He and Gladio were always stealing each other’s clients, back before they’d inherited their positions as management. Gladio had more than one regular suggest setting up a threesome, which Gladio had stubbornly refused. He had _standards,_ after all.

A door down the hall clicked open, and Nyx Ulric, naked and grinning toothily, bowed an older man out of his room. As the man walked off, adjusting his belt, Nyx glanced over his shoulder at Gladio and winked. 

“You remember to have him pay _first_ this time?” Gladio asked, looking back at his watch. 

“Fuck.”

“There it is.” Gladio watched Nyx run down the hall, his bare ass jiggling, then returned to the door.

Two hours later, Prompto still hadn’t returned. 

“So that’s how it is,” Gladio said. Betrayed by one of his best. He looked to Crowe, who was setting up flowers in one of the giant ornamental vases by the door, and his gaze lit on the blossoms, swaying gently in the dim lamplight. 

 

-

 

The night finally came to a close, and the flower festival had proved to be a stunning success. Ignis stood outside with his sometimes bouncer and door-woman, Aranea, and kept upwind as she snuck off down the block to light a cigarette. 

He loved the city at this time of night. It was true that the city never slept, but a watchful person could catch a moment of quiet here and there, small pockets of time when traffic died down to a whisper and the incessant hum of window air conditioners faded into the dark. Ignis could look up, past the lights of the high rises beyond the red light district, and imagine that the flickering glow of radio towers were stars. 

Someone coughed, and it took all of Ignis’ willpower not to jump out of his skin. A man stood on the sidewalk, his black leather jacket hanging open over his bare chest, and by the time Ignis’ gaze had moved from the sculpted expanse of the man’s abs and found the feathered tattoo on his chest and arms, it was too late: Gladiolus Amicitia smiled, wolfish and predatory. 

“Thought I’d stop by,” he said, in that ridiculously low voice of his, “and congratulate you on your first original idea.”

Ignis raised both brows. “My… first?”

“Well, better late than never, right?” Gladio’s smile didn’t change. He was holding something behind his back. Ignis could just make out the shape of something like a fern, with little white flowers at the tip. Gladio caught him staring and shrugged, revealing what had to be the strangest bouquet known to man. “Since you’re takin’ an interest in flowers now, I thought, why not?”

Ignis didn’t answer, but Gladio was holding the bouquet out with a half-bow. 

“Is that a Gladiolus flower you’re wearing?” he asked.

Ignis grit his teeth and snatched the bouquet from him. “Thank you,” he said, ice practically forming on his tongue.

“No problem,” Gladio said. “That would be peonies in the middle there.” When he smiled, a scar on his cheek shifted in the light. “Then there’s the basil, hydrangea… That one’s definitely all you.”

“How thoughtful,” Ignis said. 

“The wild liquorice is a little out there, okay, but I had to add it. You know. To get the point across. But it’s the tansy that really brings it all together.”

“You certainly know your plants, Mr. Amicitia.”

Gladio’s eyes had the gall to _twinkle_ when he bowed. “I pulled out all the stops for you, Mr. Scientia.”

Ignis smiled frostily as Gladio walked off, whistling into the night. The bouquet shook in Ignis’ hands, scattering bits of greenery onto the sidewalk. He dumped it in the trash as soon as he walked into the foyer, and almost made a line straight to Noctis’ room before he remembered that Noct was likely with a client. Blast. He headed up the stairs to his room instead, and barely remembered himself enough not to slam the door. 

Tansy. Why would _tansy_ bring the bouquet together? Ignis hadn’t come across it at the florist’s, certainly, though it was pretty enough, he supposed. He reached for his phone and ran a quick search, and let the phone slip from trembling fingers. 

Downstairs, the bouquet lay upside-down in a bin full of paper plates and plastic cups, a declaration of war wrapped in a tasteful satin bow.


	3. Chapter 3

Ignis Scientia leaned on his dark purple settee, the picture of grace in an untied corset and garters. He pursed his lips and made a short gesture with his hand, as somber as though he were directing troops into battle.

Noctis sighed and turned around. 

“Well,” Ignis said, after a moment’s pause. “They don’t leave much to the imagination.”

“That’s kind of the point, Specs,” Noct said. He had his hands spread over his behind, which in Ignis’ opinion ruined any allure that could be dredged from… what were they called? Ah. Assless chaps, of course. Noctis was also wearing an open faux-leather vest with a deputy badge on the front, and a cowboy hat for good measure.

“It’s exotic, at least,” Ignis said.

“Just because it’s foreign doesn’t make it sexy,” Noct said. Ignis stood and made his way to his desk, where he started filling out an order for ten sets of assless chaps, five frilly corsets, and a number of wide skirts that opened at the front. If he was careful, he could even have a small burlesque show midway through the evening…

“Do you know how much bottoming I’m gonna do in these?” Noct asked. His voice was teetering dangerously close to a whine. “I _like_ my ass, Iggy. It’s small, but it’s mine, and I’m not going out there after my third client of the night with it looking like Ifrit’s fucking—“

“Language,” Ignis said, and Noctis sighed loudly. “Speaking of, Noctis. Do you know what hydrangeas mean in the language of flowers?” 

“You’re gonna tell me.” 

Ignis signed off on the order. “Frigidity, Noctis. Frigidity and heartlessness. Tell me, do I look heartless to you?”

Noctis stared at him from under his wide-brimmed cowboy hat. 

“You really want me to answer that?” he asked. 

Ignis smiled, and Noct grinned back. “Oh, go on,” Ignis said. Noct smirked, and swooped in to kiss Ignis on the cheek before he hobbled off, still trying to cover his ass with both hands. 

Ignis pushed his order aside, and rose to examine his closet. He rifled through the rotating racks of shirts, blouses, robes, dresses, and dress pants. It would make sense, he supposed, to play the sheriff. He reached for a vest and a long, billowy white top, and hesitated before taking only the vest. He prided himself on his dignity and class, but if a bare chest was good enough for _Gladiolus Amicitia,_ it was good enough for him.

 

-

 

“How do you feel?” Gladio asked, twisting two wiry copper threads in large, deft fingers. Sitting on the stool beneath him, Prompto drummed his hands on knees covered by waves of thin, almost sheer cotton. 

“I feel like I’m drowning in curtains,” he said. 

“Yeah, but they’re _classy_ curtains, right?” Gladio finished adjusting the fit of the copper halo that bobbed above Prompto’s gelled-up hair, and tested the small, feathery wings strapped to his back for give. Satisfied, he stepped back and motioned for Prompto to rise. 

Prompto lurched forward, tangled his foot in the flowing white robes, and fell flat on his face.

“Maybe we need to hem it a little,” Gladio said.

“This is punishment, isn’t it?” Prompto asked, lifting himself up on his elbows. “For hiring one of Shiva’s people the other night.”

“What did I tell you, Prom?” Gladio asked. He helped heave Prompto to his feet, and adjusted the halo for the fifth time. Prompto bit back a groan, but Gladio could hear it rumbling in his throat. 

“Don’t fuck the enemy,” Prompto said.

“And what did you do?”

Prompto rolled his eyes. “I fucked the enemy. But it was nice! And Ignis was actually kind of cute. You keep talking like he’s some kind of, you know, hideous monster, but he gave me an extra slice of cake because I made Noct laugh—“

“Noct being the guy you spent an entire week’s pay on.”

“Worth it, dude,” Prompto said. “So get this, we used to work the same street a few years ago, but we never actually met up til now, so we gave each other our numbers and…” He pulled out his phone. “Now he’s my buddy on King’s Knight! We got to like, level twenty-seven.”

Gladio thought about this for a moment. “You’re telling me that he knows you work here,” Gladio said, slowly, “and you paid hundreds of gil to play video games all night.”

Prompto shrugged. “He did show me this really cool trick to use when you’re sucking someone off and you want them to come right away—“

“You know what, I’m good.” Gladio wasn’t sure how he felt about hearing those words come out of a man dressed, a little too convincingly, like an angel. “You made a friend. That’s great. Just don’t let it interfere with work.”

Prompto beamed. “Really? Dude, you’re the _best._ ” He stumbled and tripped his way back to his room, and Gladio sighed. Prompto was one of the few employees who lived there full-time—A safety precaution, due to how intense his last employer had felt about him leaving for the Flower Shop—and Gladio was starting to worry that he’d become a shut-in. So he _was_ happy for him, in a way. He just wished Prompto’s new friend wasn’t working at Shiva’s.

Shiva’s. They were setting up another special event: Wild West themed, complete with an old-time menu that really was fucking inspired. The poster on the café window showed Ignis in some kind of sheriff get-up. Except he was shirtless, and his belt was pushed so low that really, it wasn’t even close to subtle. The abs had to be edited, of course. There was no way he kept up that kind of core workout in real life. 

Gladio had taken one look at Ignis’ new attempt at crass marketing and gone in the opposite direction. He had wine from his father’s old cellar carted up and dumped in ice. A fog machine. Crystal wineglasses. A corner of the room set aside for devils, complete with red-tinted lamps and every vaguely sinister piece of high-end furniture he could find. A live fucking band. He even had a little blonde woman with a harp, though she did seem to spend a lot of time making eyes at Crowe, and he suspected that most of the songs she played were just top forty hits slowed down. 

If Ignis wanted to try out Gladio’s effortless sex appeal, Gladio would take Ignis’ weak attempts at class and amp it up to the nines. 

 

-

 

“Come on, Specs,” Noct said, after his fourth client of the afternoon. “I’ll do recon. You know you want me to.”

Ignis risked a discreet look at Noct’s chaps and had to concede that he _was_ looking a little worn. The chaps had done their work too well: Most of the workers who tended to bottom were on rotating shifts, and one or two had to switch to corsets halfway through. Even Ignis, who took clients rarely now that he was the manager, had taken a regular to bed who had endeavored, with great enthusiasm, to fuck him straight through the mattress. It would be exhausting for anyone, and as Noctis veered between being the resident lazy dom or a pillow princess, Ignis suspected he was feeling it worse than the others. 

“Very well,” Ignis said. “Come back within the hour. You may—“ Noct was gone before he could finish, racing up the stairs with a renewed burst of energy. Ignis shook his head and went back to patrolling the lower floors, all too aware of the way his tight jeans just _refused_ to stay up. 

The burlesque show was a hit, if only because Aranea had taken to the stage and out-dommed the entire city of Insomnia before going back to her post at the door. Ignis could have sworn that he’d heard more than one woman in the audience breathe _Step on me_ as she jumped down. 

An hour and a half in, Ignis was starting to eye the door, waiting for Noctis. Another half hour, and he pulled Cindy aside, leaving Shiva’s in her care, and made for the street. What would Gladio do if he found out that Noctis was a spy? The right thing to do would be to send him home, but Ignis knew the business better than most, and he didn’t dare to harbor illusions. It was better to think the worst, and be pleasantly surprised to find that Noctis was alive and well. He tugged at his too-tight vest and strode across the street, heading for the bright lights of the Flower Shop.

The man at the door to the Flower Shop was middle-aged, exhausted, and wearing a pair of cheap devil horns pushed back over his short-cropped hair. He gave Ignis a long, slow look, and muttered into a hand-held radio.

“I believe one of my people may have wandered in here by mistake,” Ignis said. He glanced behind the bouncer, and saw white fog mixing with red, and people dressed in gauzy, see-through cotton weaving around others in skin-tight leather. 

The bouncer shrugged. “Not my fault if they wanted to come in,” he said. “You’ll have to take it up with the manager.”

Of course. Ignis fought to keep his expression level, and the bouncer looked down at his phone.

A few agonizing minutes later, a vision in red leather stepped out of the fog. Gladiolus Amicitia, clad only in tight leather pants, body glitter, and a long, pointed tail, stepped up to the door and smiled.

“Mr. Scientia,” he said. “Here to see how the pros do it?”

“If I wanted that,” Ignis said, “I’d be at home. No, I heard that one of my men—“

“The one with black hair? Baby face?” Gladio’s grin widened. “Yeah, he’s with Prompto. Probably playing video games. You wanna come in?” He had his tail looped around his elbow, and when he leaned on the door, his hip jutted out, showing off the curve of his ass. Ignis’ lips thinned. “We’ve got some vintage Accordan wine here, a good year.”

“I really should just retrieve Noctis and go,” Ignis said.

“Come on, it’s a nice party,” Gladio said, still grinning. “Stick around. And you never know, you might learn something.”

“From you?” Ignis scoffed.

“That Noctis of yours seemed pretty eager to learn from us,” Gladio said, in a low drawl. Ignis bristled. 

“On further thought, Mr. Amicitia,” he said, with a chilly smile, “I would be absolutely delighted to see your _humble_ operation.”

“Oh no,” Gladio said, extending an arm with a look that was all malice. “ _You_ should call me Gladiolus.”

Gladio led Ignis through the front door of the Flower Shop and into a haze of red and white lights. 

Half the building was strung with floating white lanterns, tethered to puffy cotton teased to look like clouds, while people dressed as angels drifted about, laughing and teasing customers on wide couches on the first and second floors. Large alcoves to the far left gleamed red, and the workers there were all dressed much like Gladio, complete with elaborate horns and pointed ears. Two such ‘devils’ were sitting next to a harpist, who looked remarkably like the pianist from the other night. On one side of her was a woman with dark, choppy hair, and on the other a man with braids and a tattoo just under his eye. She looked quite overwhelmed, in a pleased sort of way, and her fingers faltered on the strings. 

“Let’s sit down in one of the devil’s alcoves,” Gladio said. “It’ll help you feel more at home.”

Ignis silently rewarded himself for not rolling his eyes behind Gladio’s back. They sat down on a two-person couch in front of a small table piled with cheeses, fruit, and dry biscuits. A wine bottle sat in a bucket of ice next to the table, and when Gladio sat down, the couch shook, making the ice rattle and clink.

“A cheese board,” Ignis said, sitting at Gladio’s side. “How quaint.”

Gladio lifted the bottle out of the ice bucket. “What, is that a problem?”

Ignis looked up at him from under half-lowered lids as Gladio poured dark wine into expensive glasses. “Oh, no,” he said. “I’m sure your usual crowd won’t be able to notice a thing.”

Of course, there wasn’t anything wrong whatsoever with Gladio’s choices of cheese and grapes, but judging by the look of worry in his eyes, a seed of doubt had been planted. Good. Let him stew. Ignis lifted his glass, took in the scent of the best wine he’d had in years, and tried not to let it show.

“Passable,” he said.

“Thank god,” Gladio said. “Don’t know how I’d survive without _your_ approval.” He took a sip from his own glass. “So. What do you think? I’m guessing this is your first time in a proper brothel.”

Ignis’ grip on his wineglass tightened. “What a way with words you have, Gladiolus.”

“Thank you, Ignis. Can I call you Ignis?” Gladio leaned forward, and the red light of the devil’s alcove made his skin glow in a silhouette of fire.

“Mr. Scientia will do.”

“Well.” Gladio shifted to make himself more comfortable, and Ignis noted that he was sitting at an angle, so that the light from the nearby lamp accentuated the muscles of his arms and chest. “I just noticed, you know, that Shiva’s seems to be doing pretty well. For a whorehouse.”

“Oh, we certainly try,” Ignis said. “But it takes time. After all, it took your lovely shop, oh, three hundred years to rise above the crowd.”

Gladio raised his glass in a silent toast. They both drank. Ignis watched the line of Gladio’s neck move as he swallowed. 

“The thing is,” Gladio said. “Places like yours, the Honeybee Inn, and the Chosen Man—“

“Don’t,” Ignis said, stiffly, “refer to my establishment and the Chosen Man in the same sentence.”

Gladio shrugged one shoulder, and Ignis frowned. The Honeybee Inn was harmless, even if they had tightened their security after one of their guests had impersonated an employee, but the Chosen Man was a dive. _Worse_ than a dive. It was the sort of business that took promising young people in, ground them down, and threw them onto the streets when they’d outlived their usefulness. Just the name made Ignis’ skin crawl. 

He smoothed out his frown and held his now empty glass out to Gladio, who gallantly refilled it. 

“I admire what you’re trying to accomplish here, Gladiolus,” Ignis said, before Gladio could go back to the matter at hand. 

“Mr. Amicitia, actually,” Gladio said. 

“But there’s something that, for all the Flower Shop’s age and… enthusiasm, is missing.” Ignis drained his glass in one go. “Subtlety.”

“Really.”

Ignis tipped his glass towards Gladio and set it down on the table before him. “Some people,” he said, rubbing a thumb along his outer thigh, “treat seduction with the grace of a hammer and nail. It isn’t about showing off your goods all at once and hoping that someone comes along who likes it…” He let his words trail off, and dragged at his lower lip with his teeth before glancing at Gladio sidelong. “Fast and rough.”

“And you, you’re subtle,” Gladio said, in a disbelieving tone.

“Perhaps not after a few glasses of wine, I’ll grant you,” Ignis said, turning towards him so that their knees barely touched. “But even so, I can tell you that the best way to keep a client is to leave them waiting for a _revelation.”_

“Yeah?” Gladio leaned back, an open invitation if Ignis ever saw one. “What’s the big reveal? That you’re secretly a giant fucking asshole in disguise?” His eyes narrowed as Ignis drew his legs up onto the couch. 

“Not quite.” Ignis smiled, and crawled over Gladio’s impressive frame, careful not to let their bodies touch. “You build up their expectations,” he said, and teased the ends of Gladio’s hair. “Taunt them with the promise of more…” His lips ghosted over the sensitive skin of Gladio’s neck, and he smirked at the sound of Gladio drawing in a sharp breath. “And then, when the time is right…”

His hand snaked out to the ice bucket, and he pushed the bottle of wine into Gladio’s chest. Gladio’s hands fell back from where they were inching up towards Ignis’ waist, and Ignis laughed, low and perhaps not as kindly as he could have, as he sat back on the other side of the couch.

“You may top off my glass,” he said. 

Gladio glowered darkly and poured the wine.

 

-

 

“I don’t think I can look,” Noctis whispered.

“I’ll look _for_ you,” said Prompto. He and Noct were huddled together in a dark corner of the angel’s side of the first floor, blocked from view by a cart of glasses that needed to be washed. Noct had technically paid for some of Prompto’s time, but he knew how important tips could be, so he’d spent most of the evening sitting on the couch while Prompto ran back and forth between him and customers, sparing a few minutes each time to go over each other’s phones and talk. Then, right when Prompto was telling Noct all about this dog he saw on Broad Street, Noctis saw him.

Ignis, climbing on top of Gladiolus Amicitia. 

“They’re just talking,” Prompto said, while Noct shoved his face in Prompto’s shoulder and groaned softly. “I mean, okay, Gladio’s doing the smolder thing, but he does that with everyone.”

“The smolder thing?” Noct asked. 

“Take a look.”

Noct peered over Prompto’s shoulder. Gladio did look like he was trying to give Ignis some kind of seductive _come hither_ stare, but Ignis’ shoulders were stiff and his hand was tight on his glass, which meant it wasn’t working. He said something, and Gladio’s eyes narrowed.

“Uh oh,” Prompto said.

“Uh oh what?” Noct draped his arms around Prompto’s shoulders, kneeling up for a better look. “What’s that about?”

“Gladio’s pissed,” Prompto said.

“Yeah, and Ignis looks like he’s gonna throw wine in your boss’ face.”

Prompto’s shoulders slumped, and he looked back at Noct. Noct felt something small tighten in his chest at the way his eyes seemed so much bigger and darker behind his thick, black-rimmed glasses, and he lifted his hand to touch the circlet holding Prompto’s halo in place.

“Guess we gotta break them up,” he said. Prompto nodded.

“But we’re still going to the dog park tomorrow?”

Noctis tucked a stray lock of hair behind Prompto’s ear. 

“You bet, angel.”

Prompto snorted and pushed Noct in the chest as he stood from the couch. “Oh my god, dude, that was _awful.”_

They tottered over to the devil’s alcove, Prompto a little shakily in his yards of cotton, and made it to Gladio and Ignis just as the two of them were probably about to smash their wineglasses on the floor and challenge each other to pistols at dawn. Or fuck. Honestly, Noct couldn’t really tell the difference at this point. 

“Hey, boss,” he said, while Prompto hurriedly whispered in Gladio’s ear. “Funny meeting you here.”

“Noctis, Mr. Amicitia and I—“

“Were just finishing up, yeah?” Prompto asked brightly. His smile was just this side of manic. “I mean, lots of work to do, you know.”

“Oh, yeah,” Noct said. “That’s true. The, uh, the people of Insomnia aren’t gonna fuck themselves, right?”

Gladio and Ignis stared at him. Prompto coughed. 

“That’s—that’s right, Noct,” Prompto said, proving himself to be an actual angel in truth and deserving of every leftover tart Noct could scrounge from the café for the rest of his life. “Okay, they sort of can, if they want, but it isn’t as fun.”

“Hit the nail on the head with that one, Prompto,” Noct said. Both Gladio and Ignis winced. 

“Well,” Prompto said. “You sure… _Noct…_ that out of the—“ 

“Okay, we’re done,” Gladio said, rescuing them both from the depths of small-talk hell. “It was nice talkin’ to you, Mr. Scientia.”

“Likewise,” Ignis said, rising with only the slightest wobble. “Noctis, we should go. Mr. Amicitia has so much work to do, after all, keeping this place afloat.”

Gladio winked. Ignis gave a little bow. Noct grabbed Ignis by the arm and dragged him bodily out of the alcove, making a straight line for the door.

“I was doing quite well on my own, you know,” Ignis informed him, as he staggered at Noct’s heels. Noct looked from Ignis’ unfocused gaze to his unsteady feet, considered what might happen if he answered honestly, and decided that in this case, silence was probably the best option.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ignis: I need to show Gladio how subtle I am  
> Also Ignis: BY CLIMBING HIM LIKE A TREE


	4. Chapter 4

“You two should collaborate more often.”

Gladio looked up at his former regular and sometime drinking buddy, Ravus Nox Fleuret, and raised his brows. The Flower Shop’s latest offensive maneuver against Shiva’s was in full swing: Employees dressed in skimpy leather gladiator costumes and ‘war prize’ jewelry sets (which had been salvaged from a pirate theme a few weeks before) walked the lower levels, claiming their ‘patrons’ and offering private demonstrations of strength and skill. Meanwhile, over at Shiva’s, the poor workers there were all in togas and laurels, pretending to be senators or poets or something equally uninteresting and dry. When you had to choose between someone dressed in a towel and someone oiled up in leather, it wasn’t really a contest. Gladio almost felt _sorry_ for Ignis this time.

“What do you mean, collaborate?” he asked. Ravus shrugged.

“I thought you planned this? Poetry on one end, brute strength on the other?” Ravus’ accent was the same as Ignis’, Gladio realized. Strange that he’d never noticed it before. “I was just at Shiva’s, and you compliment one another remarkably well.”

“You went to Shiva’s?” Gladio asked. Ravus shrugged again. “Et tu, Ravus?”

“Oh, don’t start. Their manager, Ignis? His café serves a recipe you can only find in Tenebrae. Don’t fault me for caving to nostalgia. Besides,” he gestured to the other end of the room. “If you aren’t doing this together, then why did I see that exact show not an hour ago at Shiva’s?”

Gladio followed his line of sight. The musician who had sworn up and down to Gladio that she could play an aulos perfectly well, and who happened to be the harpist from the angel and devil night, had given up on translating pop songs through her double reed pipes and was sitting at the edge of the “sparring ring,” hands clasped in her lap. Libertus and Nyx had come up with the idea for putting on a wrestling match for select customers, complete with bets, which Gladio knew was just their excuse to lather each other up in oil and fuck for money. 

Past the sparring ring was a small couch, which had gathered a crowd almost as substantial as the one watching Nyx and Libertus trash-talk each other. Gladio excused himself to Ravus and pushed past them, noting the high number of women in attendance, and almost groaned at the sight that awaited him on the couch. 

Prompto, the muscles of his arms gleaming around the complex leather straps of his gladiator outfit, was kneeling before Noctis, who wore a senator’s toga and a golden laurel crown. When he spoke, Prompto’s voice wavered with the passion of truly terrible acting, and two of the women in the crowd held hands and leaned forward. 

“Senator Caelum,” Prompto said, flexing his bicep. “Why? Why would you think to free me, who art nothing more than a slave in the gladitoriorial ring?”

 _Gladitoriorial?_ Gladio thought, but none of the people in the crowd seemed to notice. They watched the two with rapt attention, occasionally stopping to slip a tip into one of Noctis’ discarded sandals.

“Because,” Noctis said, and he looked away dramatically, closing his eyes.

“He can’t say it,” one of the women in the crowd whispered.

“Oh god, I’m gonna die,” said another.

“Because true love,” Noctis said, looking to Prompto, a smile threatening to break through his somber mask, “has no chains.”

There was a susurrus of whispering from the onlookers.

“Oh, Master Noctis!” Prompto climbed onto Noct’s lap, flinging his arms around his neck.

“Not Master,” Noct whispered. “Never again.”

“This is fucking beautiful,” sobbed a man in the corner of the crowd, as Noct and Prompto kissed tenderly. Gladio sighed and walked around to the other end of the couch, and leaned down. 

“Hey,” he said, and Noctis looked up at him with eyes blown black and wide. “No hustling unless you work here.”

“It’s all going to Prompto this time,” Noct whispered.

“Yeah,” Prompto said. “We just did the same thing at Shiva’s. They love it, big guy.”

Gladio considered breaking it up then and there, but he wasn’t a _monster,_ and if Ignis hadn’t stopped them, _he_ wasn’t going to be the bad guy. “Alright, but it ain’t a collaboration, right? We don’t endorse this.”

“You should,” Noct started to say, and then Prompto slapped a hand over his mouth. 

“Enough!” he cried, in his painfully contrived playacting voice. “As you say, yesterday you were my master, but tonight, I will show you the mastery of _love._ ”

One of the women on the floor gasped. Gladio shook his head and moved on.

“I didn’t plan that one,” he told Ravus when he found him again, leaning against the open bar. “That’s one of my own going rogue.”

“You should follow his example,” Ravus said. He looked Gladio up and down. “You and that Ignis fellow would make a nice match.”

“I’m letting that one slide,” Gladio said. When Ravus laughed, he felt a shiver rise up from the base of his spine. “You know, if you want to head into my room for a while…”

“For old time’s sake?” Ravus asked. He glanced at the musician, who was covering her beet-red face with both hands while Libertus took Nyx from behind. “Oh, twist my arm.”

“Only if you want me to,” Gladio said. 

Ravus was one of Gladio’s more exacting regulars. He stood at the door to Gladio’s room while Gladio took out what he requested and laid them on the bed: Cuffs, blindfold, a collar and chain—Ravus liked the feeling of having a stronger man under his power, and Gladio, who rarely had the chance to bottom, was happy to comply. Besides, his laugh just now… Something about that had struck a chord with Gladio, and he wasn't sure how to respond to it.

Ravus tied the blindfold first, then cuffed his hands to a link in the headboard. “Such enthusiasm, Gladio,” he said, as he caressed the oiled muscles of his back. 

Unbidden, Gladio thought of the way _Ignis’_ lips had formed around the same word. He rocked back into Ravus’ touch. He was so light on his skin, almost barely there at all, just like…

A firm hand pressed Gladio’s face down onto the mattress, hooking around the collar at his neck, and he tried to banish the thought of Ignis’ long, slender fingers as Ravus’ slid into him, slick with oil and brutal in their efficiency. He gasped and writhed against his bonds, despite the fact that this was hardly enough to get him off, and wondered what Ignis was doing. Entertaining his own clients, no doubt. He’d be wearing one of those ridiculous togas, probably historically accurate, too, knowing him. His glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he leaned over his client, the robes bunched up over his hips as the blunt head of his cock entered them—

Ravus thrust forward, rocking Gladio a few inches up the tangled sheets. 

Did Ignis take it slow? Well, he _was_ a tease, Gladio knew that. What would it take to break him from his usual routine? To make him lose control, to snap his hips into his lover, to grind his length along their prostate, to hold them down with one hand and whisper in their ear as they came?

Gladio’s orgasm left him shaking, his voice hoarse, a strangled wail of a word dying on his tongue. Ravus fucked him through it, chasing his own release, and when he finally lay trembling over Gladio’s back, he chuckled and brushed along the blindfold almost fondly.

“Everyone’s getting my name wrong tonight,” he said, in a breathless voice. Gladio opened his eyes to the blackness of the blindfold. “You see, when I was with Ignis earlier, _he_ kept calling me _Gladio._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, in her dorm at college (she was accepted early), Iris Amicitia scrolls through long emails from Gladio asking if she knows of anything historically relevant that would be more interesting to people than Roman senators. 
> 
> "Gladiators, I guess? ;)" she types, and then goes back to eating cereal out of the box while she watches an endless stream of cat videos.


	5. Chapter 5

The kitchen of Shiva’s café was more of a bakery with a half-hearted attempt at a salad station, and it smelled how Noctis thought the astral plane would, if the astral plane included three massive ovens, ten jars of flour, and enough sugar to sedate a behemoth. Noct slipped past a baker carrying a tray of quiches, grabbed a few ulwaat berries from a steel bowl, and opened the fridge where the tarts from last night were being held. 

The fridge was empty.

“Oh, hard luck,” sneered Loqi, the latest dishwasher and busboy, flicking blond hair out of his eyes. “We just gave the last ones to some giant in flannel.”

“Don’t let Ignis catch you saying that about a customer,” Noct said, slamming the fridge shut. Loqi hooked his thumbs in his pant pockets. 

“I don’t think he’ll mind,” he said. When Noct narrowed his eyes at him, Loqi smirked. “You’ll see. Are you out to see your new pet at the Flower Shop?”

“Shut up, Loqi.” Noct snuck another berry. “Don’t pretend you haven’t been looking at Cor like you want him to bend you in half.”

Loqi sputtered indignantly as Noct strode off, through the kitchen doors and out into the main dining area. The café was open most of the day, but customers usually didn’t start trickling in until the afternoon, so none of the tarts or pastries would have been ready yet. Noct scanned the café, and caught a large, dark-haired man sitting in a corner seat, wearing a red flannel shirt and silvery reading glasses. He had a book out on the table next to his plate, and was examining the mini tarts as though they were a complex lock. 

“Gladiolus?” Noct asked. The man looked up, startled and pink in the face. Holy hell, it was Gladio. Noct ran over and dragged a chair from another table, ignoring the way the legs squealed against the wood floor. 

“What are _you_ doing here?” Noct asked. He sat with his chest to the back of his chair, facing Gladio. “Checking out the competition?”

“Prompto keeps talking about the pastries here,” Gladio said. “Figure he won’t shut up about it unless I try one.”

“He still won’t shut up about it,” Noct said. He picked up the book on the table, ignoring Gladio’s sound of distress. After weeks of Noct showing up at the Flower Shop at all hours to bother Prompto, he’d elevated Gladio in his mind to the status of _Okay, Probably,_ which meant that Gladio no longer had the privilege of personal space. “What’s this? Great Romances? Really?”

“Not…” Gladio swiped the book away from him. “Not the kind you think. It means epics. You know, stories about knights, kings, farmboys with destinies.”

“No, I don’t know,” Noct said. “The closest _I’ve_ been to a farm is when I saw a chocobo at a fair when I was eight.” He eyed one of the mini tarts. “You gonna eat that, or…”

“Yes,” Gladio said. Noct sighed heavily, and he shook his head. “That look ever work on Ignis?”

“Sometimes.”

“He’s too soft on you.”

Noct shrugged. He wasn’t about to deny _that._

“Prompto says you two used to work the same street,” Gladio said. “Not many people from that part of town end up here. How’d that happen?” Noct made a noncommittal noise.

“That’ll cost you,” he said. Gladio closed his eyes briefly and pushed half a tart towards Noct, who picked at the flaky crust. “So you heard about the Chosen Man? Kind of a bar, under the overpass by the city gate?”

Gladio’s expression darkened. That answered _that_ question. “Yeah, Ignis gets the same look. I used to work there. Hey, no, it’s fine,” he said, when Gladio shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “It was a long time ago, before Ignis worked at Shiva’s. I was like, seventeen.”

“That… doesn’t make it better,” Gladio said.

“Yeah, well, welcome to the big city,” Noct said. “But I was working at the bar when Ignis came in to pay off his contract with the boss, and, I don’t know. I was having a bad night.”

“ _His_ contract?” Gladio asked. He pushed the rest of the tart towards Noct. Noct wondered if he could get him to buy extras for Prompto. 

“The boss makes you sign a contract,” he said. “If you want to leave, you gotta pay it off. Doesn’t matter how, but it’s easier if it’s through him, ‘cause no one wants someone who has to give half their paycheck to someone else. But Specs—Ignis—He got a job at Shiva’s that helped him pay it off. So he should’ve been in the clear.” He took another bite of the pastry. “Then he offered to pay _my_ contract, right there. Took him a _year._ ”

“You ain’t working for him to pay that back, are you?” Gladio asked. Noct snorted.

“What? No. When Specs took over Shiva’s, he started the café, so I did dishes for two months before I asked to work on the second floor. It’s nice. You can set your own hours if you want, and if someone doesn’t follow the rules, Aranea kicks their ass. And the café thing helps, ‘cause you can put it on your resume.” He finished the tart. “Want anything else? I can tell you what kind of books he likes. His turn-ons, how many pairs of shoes he has…”

“I’m running out of pastries,” Gladio said, with a pointed look at his half-empty plate. Noct smiled. 

“Don’t grill me for info if you don’t come prepared,” he said. He got up. “Oh. Oh, right. You’re doing that knight and monster theme this weekend?”

“I _was,_ ” Gladio said. 

“Can you make Prompto a knight?” Noct asked. “It’s just, we have this idea, right, where I’m gonna be the prince of Shiva’s and Prompto’s gonna rescue me from the queen—That’s Ignis—and carry me to _your_ place where he and Nyx are—“

Gladio covered his face with a hand. “Does Ignis know?” That sounded promising.

“Not yet. I’m gonna tell him right before it happens.”

Gladio groaned, but Noct decided to take that for a win. “Thanks, big guy. It’ll be great, I promise.” He slapped him on the back and headed towards the stairs. “But if you _really_ wanna know, he likes purple coeurl-print everything, and poetry gets him right there.” He placed a hand over his stomach. “You know, the cheesy shit. Just saying.”

He fled up the stairs before Gladio’s look of confusion could fade into one of outrage, and flung open his bedroom. The sheets on the bed were stripped for washing, and his new uniform for that weekend, a prince outfit in dark blue and black, hung from his closet door. He pushed it aside and dug in a bag hanging behind it for the earrings Prompto had given him last week. They were black baby chocobo studs, which matched the yellow ones that Noct had bought for Prompto. He put them on in a rush, and headed up to Ignis’ room. 

Ignis didn’t answer when Noct rapped on the door. He knocked again, and heard muffled cursing. 

“Noctis?” Ignis’ voice sounded distant. “I may be in need of assistance.”

“More than you know,” Noct muttered, thinking of Gladio sitting alone in the café. He pushed open the door, stared at the figure before Ignis’ closet, and held back a bark of laughter.

“Oh, god,” he said.

“Yes, yes,” Ignis said, in a clipped voice. “I know how it looks. Just head over here and help me.”

Noct closed the door behind him and crossed the soft carpet of Ignis’ bedroom. Ignis was holding himself upright by the frame of the door, one hand behind his back, trying to untangle the back of a blue and black corset. Noct sighed and batted his hand away. 

“You missed a few holes,” Noct said, and Ignis huffed. 

“Never try to lace your own corset, Noctis,” Ignis said. “I wanted to see what might work for the royal raiment this weekend.”

“Not like you to mess up when it comes to clothes,” Noct pointed out. “What are you looking for? Push-up tits, pec cleavage, flat?”

“Try for a bosom.”

Noct rolled his eyes. Who used the word bosom anymore? He tied up Ignis’ corset properly, tucking it in the way Ignis liked it, and patted him on the back. “How’s the breathing?” 

“Manageable.” Ignis laid a hand over his chest, looking like he’d just stepped out of a romance novel, and smiled. “Aren’t you off to meet that Prompto of yours?”

“Yeah, we’re doing lunch,” Noct said. “But I thought you might want to know, Gladio’s downstairs in the café—“

Ignis’ new bosom heaved. “Pardon?”

“Mm. In flannel. Like a ripped lumberjack.”

Ignis stood there a moment, one hand on his chest, the other on the frame of his closet.

“Noctis,” he said, in a sharp voice. “I need my black pumps. No, the silver ones. And the silver shawl, the one that reaches mid-thigh. I’ll handle the garters.”

“Yes, sir,” Noct said, grinning, and ducked into the closet. 

It was one of the fastest clothing changes Noct had ever witnessed. In the course of two minutes, thanks mostly to Noct running around the room like he had a wolf on his heels, Ignis looked fresh-faced, elegant, and two minutes from stepping onto a stage at a burlesque show. He peered into the mirror. 

“How am I, Noctis?”

“Trashy, but like you planned it,” Noct said.

“It will have to do,” Ignis murmured. He stood straight. “Well? Don’t you have a lunch date?”

Noct opened the door for Ignis, who clicked his way down the stairs in a rapid-fire staccato. Noct leaned over the rail and looked down just in time to see Ignis stop at the doorway to the café, smiling at Gladio as though he hadn’t just upended half his closet a minute before.

“Mr. Amicitia,” he said. “What a surprise to find _you_ here.”

Noct pulled out his phone and sent a frantic text to Prompto. Sure, lunch was nice, but as Ignis slowly walked towards Gladio, whose entire body fell slack along with his jaw, Noct knew that this was something neither of them wanted to miss.

“I’m here,” Prompto said, only five minutes later. He stood at the back door to the kitchen, out of breath and red with exertion. Prompto’s idea of casual wear was a black vest with too many studs, his chocobo earrings, and a kilt with leggings that stopped just above the edge of his boots. He was sweating through the thin shirt under his vest, and his hair was only half done.

In that moment, Noct didn’t think he’d ever wanted anyone as much as he wanted Prompto Argentum. 

“What?” Prompto asked. When he smiled, his lips actually turned up at the corners. “Noct? Buddy? What’d I miss?”

Noct blinked. “Not much. They’re just talking.”

“Wait, really?” Prompto stepped into the kitchen, and fanned his face with both hands. “Ifrit’s ballsack, Noct, this place is hot.”

“Employees _only_ back here,” Loqi called from the dishwashing station. 

“Shut up, Loqi,” Noct said. He dragged Prompto by the hand through the kitchen, and the two of them stopped at the door, cracking it open. Prompto wriggled under Noct so that he could get a better look, and Noct lay a hand on Prompto’s hair, twisting the gelled spikes into uneven shapes.

Ignis was sitting in the chair on the other side of the small table from Gladio. He’d arranged himself with boneless grace, like a man who had been just thoroughly fucked and was simply stepping out for a quiet smoke, instead of a man who had spent all morning doing paperwork and organized his wardrobe like an arsenal of war. He looked up at Gladio under drooping lids, but Noct could recognize the little tells behind Ignis’ veneer of bored disinterest: The way his fingers tapped on the edge of the chair, the restless jiggling of his foot under the table, and the curve of his mouth that was more nerves than a true smile.

“Didn’t think I’d live long enough to see you fully clothed,” Ignis said. Prompto snorted, and Noct shook his shoulder gently.

“It’s my day off,” Gladio said. 

“What a concept.” Ignis wound a long lock of hair by his ear round his finger, a good sign of irritation if Noct was any judge. “You must have a charmed life.”

Gladio’s smile was almost painful. “You don’t take a day to yourself sometimes?” he asked. “Isn’t it exhausting?”

“Ah, well.” Ignis sighed expressively. “When you’re running a humble, third-rate whorehouse, you can hardly afford it—“

“Look.” Gladio leaned on his elbows. “I’m… sorry about that. That was outta line.” Before Ignis could say any more, he barreled on. “But you’re saying you don’t take a day off? Ever?”

Ignis shrugged, and his shawl rippled with reflected light. “I take half days, now and then.”

“Yeah? When was the last one?”

“I had no notion you wanted to be my minder, Mr. Amicitia,” Ignis said. He uncrossed his legs, then crossed them again, slowly, taking care to exaggerate his movements. 

“Wow. His legs really do go on forever,” Prompto whispered. Noct grinned. 

“Prompto was like that for a while.” Gladio ran his thumb along the pages of the book at his side. “Wouldn’t go out unless it was for work, tended to, you know. Live for the job. Had a bunch of photos in his closet he used to take when he worked the lower city, like the outside world was something he had to hide.”

Noct saw the tips of Prompto’s ears turn a deep pink.

“When he met Noctis, he started using his days off. Sure, he and Noct get too into the themes sometimes—“

“Their stunt with our highlander night comes to mind,” Ignis said. Noct opened his mouth in silent outrage. The kilt and leafblower trick was their best idea in _weeks._

“But it works for him. I can’t speak for Noctis, but…”

Ignis sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Noctis woke up before noon this morning of his own volition,” he said. “They’ve been… good for one another.”

Prompto’s ears were bright red, and a blush was crawling up the back of his neck. He looked up at Noct, freckles almost eclipsed by the pink of his cheeks, and offered him an uncertain smile. Noct smiled back. 

“Tell me,” Gladio said, and the businesslike tone of his voice made both Noct and Prompto snap to attention. “Are you a gambling man, Mr. Scientia?” 

Ignis leaned back in his chair, and smiled faintly as Gladio’s gaze followed the movement of his thighs. 

“I don’t often rely on chance,” Ignis said. 

“Try it this time.” Gladio said. “If I can get you to, oh, break character by the time the weekend’s over, then you take a day off with me.”

“And when you lose this wager?” Ignis asked, tapping the toe of his shoe on Gladio’s thigh. 

“I pay for your next themed night. The whole thing.”

Ignis sat there for a moment, toying with the silver charm at the front of his corset. His toe traveled up Gladio’s leg, and Gladio gently lifted it off. “Very well,” he said, and held out his hand. “You have yourself a deal.”

Gladio took his hand. “Make sure to clear out some space next week,” he said.

Ignis only smiled.

“Now,” Ignis said, when they were done trying to squeeze each other’s fingers to death. “Would you like to accompany me into the kitchen for a sample of our latest creation, Mr. Amicitia?”

“Shit,” Noct whispered. 

“Fuck,” hissed Prompto.

They both tried to move back at once, except Prompto’s hand was still tangled up in Noct’s shirt, Noct’s legs were positioned all wrong, and one of them ended up kicking the door half open with a resounding bang. They scrambled for the back of the kitchen, ignoring a darkly cursing Loqi, and burst through the back door just as Ignis and Gladio entered from the other side. 

“Well,” Prompto said, after they’d caught their breath against the wall of the kitchen. “You think Gladio can do it?”

Noct grimaced. “Honestly, Prom, I think it’ll take a miracle.”

Prompto took Noct’s shoulder and turned him around, making him stagger and blink in the sudden glare of the sun. 

“Good thing,” Prompto said, “that he has an _angel_ in reserve.”

 

-

 

“I can’t watch!”

Ignis Scientia looked up from where he was trying to tell Aranea’s stand-ins, for the fifth time, exactly how important it was that at least one of them manned the door without sneaking off every ten minutes for a smoke break. Both of them had stared at him in open confusion, as though Ignis had just started speaking in tongues. It was almost a relief when the woman ran up to them from the dark street beyond, hands over her face, tears in her eyes. Ignis hummed in sympathy and held her by the shoulders.

“My dear,” he said. “What’s the matter? Did something happen?”

She only sobbed and pushed herself out of his hold, extending her hands to a group of girls just inside the foyer.

“It’s terrible,” one of them said. “Is it still going on?”

“They’re saying _goodbye,_ ” the woman cried. Cindy, wearing the all jeans outfit that Ignis was fairly sure he told her to ritually set on fire, walked up to them and started speaking to them in a low, soothing voice. Ignis gestured for Biggs (or possibly Wedge—he still couldn’t tell Aranea’s backup bouncers apart) to follow, and headed into the street.

A sizeable crowd had gathered, mostly of patrons Ignis recognized from that evening, around a small scene occurring in front of a closed comic shop. Ignis felt the beginnings of a headache twinge at his temples. Aranea could have stopped this. Hell, Cor could have stopped this. He glanced over at the front of the Flower Shop, and saw only a dark-haired woman playing on her phone.

In the street, Prompto gripped Noctis’ hands. 

“I’m sorry, Noct,” he said. “It just can’t happen. We’re from two different worlds.”

“I don’t care!” Noct drew Prompto into a clinging, sloppy kiss. The crowd let out a collective gasp. “It doesn’t matter if our bosses hate each other. _This,_ this right here. Our love.” He placed a hand on Prompto’s chest, and a man at the edge of the crowd rubbed tears out of his eyes with the heel of his palm. “It’s real. It’s realer than, than highlanders, or angels, or gladiators. It’s realer than Shiva, or the Flower Shop.”

“We _can’t,_ ” Prompto said, a quaver in his voice. Ignis covered his eyes with a hand.

“Prompto. I promise, no matter how long it takes, I’ll find a way to make it work. When I’m with another, it’s _you_ I want to touch. _Your_ name on my lips.”

“On my heart,” Prompto whispered.

Ignis felt his cheeks flush, ever so slightly. 

_”Say it again,” Ravus had said, as he held Ignis down just below the base of his throat. His body cast a shadow over him, a shadow that Ignis couldn’t help but feel wasn’t wide enough, tall enough. Ignis could feel himself coming undone, not by the firm tone of Ravus’ voice, but at the thought of what Gladio’s thin scar would look like in the light of Ignis’ room, of the feathers of his tattoo shifting with him like the wings of a living bird. “Say it.”_

_“Gladio.”_

“Prompto, no!” Noctis cried, and Ignis lowered his hand. Prompto was running back to the Flower Shop, trailed by curious onlookers. Noct flung a hand to his forehead for a second, then ran for Shiva’s, leaving a devastated crowd in his wake.

Ignis received more than one dirty look from customers as they filed back into Shiva’s, but it seemed that there was one outcome of Prompto and Noct’s dramatics that Ignis hadn’t considered: Noctis became the most sought-after employee of Shiva’s for the rest of the evening. Pity sex, it seemed, was now in vogue. 

As Ignis ran once again after a retreating Biggs (or Wedge), he wished that someone could think to have pity on _him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *theme for The Parent Trap starts to play*


	6. Chapter 6

The problem with having a public breakup with Noct in the middle of the night, Prompto realized, was that it made going out on a date with him the next morning more than a little awkward. 

“You don’t think anyone’ll recognize me?” Noct asked, as they pounded down the broken subway escalator. Prompto tried to find a way to dignify that with a response. Noct was wearing a ratty old baseball cap shoved low over his eyes, a shirt that was _probably_ white once, ripped jeans, and a puffy vest that looked like it belonged in that movie about the time-traveling teenager who kissed his mom. For a guy who could look disgustingly hot in just a sheet knotted over one shoulder, Noct managed to make that outfit push him to new and terrifying levels of dork. 

“You’re good,” he said. 

They shoved their way into the south-bound E train and huddled by the door. When Prompto reached for Noct’s hand, Noct laced his fingers with Prompto’s, holding their hands between them so no one else could see.

“Still not sure about going to the lower city, Prom,” Noct said. “It’s kind of… I haven’t been back there since I left. You know.”

Prompto didn’t know, actually, but he wasn’t about to push. He knew that Noct had worked at the Chosen Man, which from what Prompto had heard was worse than working off the street. But Noct only talked about it in vague terms. He referred to his life like it had been split in two parts: Before and after Ignis. Before, there was a mention of a dad who liked to take him to the aquarium, or of going hungry, or of a time when he was in between. He didn’t explain, and Prompto figured he didn’t have to. You had to sink pretty low for the Chosen Man to look like a step in the right direction.

“I don’t think it’ll be a problem,” Prompto said. “You’re in disguise, but it’s not like it’s open in the day.”

“Doesn’t mean no one’s there,” Noct muttered. 

“The arcade’s worth it, dude. Trust me.” Prompto squeezed his hand, and Noct squeezed back. Then the train doors opened, and it was a matter of pushing and shoving and cheerily exchanging curses with total strangers until they were out in the lower city subway station, staring up at yet another set of broken escalators. 

The closer they got to the arcade, the tighter Noct’s grip on Prompto became.

“We can go back,” Prompto said, when Noct’s teeth ground together so tight they started to squeak. “It’s not like—“

“No, this is okay.” Noct released Prompto’s hand, and Prompto shook it out, wincing. “I’m incognito.” He pushed his hat down further over his ears and fell into a dramatic slouch. His attempt at walking in that position had Prompto wheezing with laughter, and the two skirted the side streets of the lower city, clinging to each other’s shoulders. 

Then Noct stopped, straightening like a puppet pulled up by an invisible line, and held a hand to Prompto’s chest.

“Prom,” he said. His voice rose, urgent and sharp. “ _Prom!_ ” 

He took off, running across the street as his plastic vest bobbed and squeaked. Prompto ran after him, and when he saw the light of police cars flashing in front of the worn, olive-green front of the Chosen Man bar and inn, grabbed Noct by the vest with both fists and dug his feet into the asphalt. 

“Holy shit,” Noct said. “Holy shit, Prompto, let go. _Let go._ ” He slithered out of his vest and ran towards a couple of policemen standing at the corner of the parking lot. They stepped back in alarm as he panted to a halt. 

“What. What happened?” he asked. 

“I’m afraid we’ll have to ask you to step back, sir,” one of the policemen said. Noct shook his head. 

“No, I mean.” He held onto his knees with both hands. “Is it… Is it Ardyn? The owner?”

“You know him?” The other one asked. Prompto caught up and smacked a hand on Noct’s back.

“Hurt a friend of his,” Prompto said. The policemen looked at one another, briefly. 

“If your… friend,” the first one said, to Noct, “wants to file charges, he’ll be welcome at the station.” He frowned. “But yes. We got an anonymous call this morning, after a fire was reported in the second story. I can’t tell you the details, but it’s damning—Sir, sir, step away from the vehicle.”

Noct was already ducking down to squint into the backseat of the flashing cop car. He tapped on the tinted window, and Prompto saw a shadow shift behind it. Noct whipped off his hat. 

“Hey,” he shouted, as one of the cops wearily grabbed him by the arm. “Hey, _fucker!_ ” He laughed. “Hope you like prison, you piece of—“

“He’s really emotional right now,” Prompto said desperately, as the policeman deposited Noct at the end of the street. “He’s not usually…”

“This is why we don’t tell people shit, Titus,” growled the other officer. The cop holding onto Noct gently turned him towards Prompto, and scribbled something on his notepad.

“You two need to keep your distance,” he said, ripping out his note and handing it to Prompto. “But if your _friend_ has anything important he thinks we should know, call this precinct and ask for Sergeant Drautos.”

“Sure,” Prompto said, holding onto Noct’s arms. Noct was still grinning, wider than Prompto had ever seen, but the light in his eyes was all fire. “Will do.”

 

-

 

“I’m gonna eat an entire pie,” Noct said. He was lying on Ignis’ bed, staring up at the finely-woven canopy, while Ignis had a quiet breakdown in his office chair. “No. No, I’m gonna take the pie, right, and I’m gonna go to the trial. And I’m gonna sit there and eat the whole thing in front of him.”

“That’s nice, Noctis,” Ignis said. He folded his glasses. It took him several tries. 

“And then when he’s convicted, me and Prom, we’re gonna get those confetti canons, and we’re—“

“That’s illegal, Noctis,” Ignis said. He set his glasses down. They clattered to the floor, and by the time he was able to pick them up again, Noct was off, veering down another tangent. 

“Then when we’re done setting the bar on fire, I’m gonna make a statue out of the ashes, right? Except it’s gonna be this giant middle finger, and I’ll take it to the street outside the prison and aim it at Ardyn’s cell window.”

“You certainly have everything planned.” Ignis fumbled for the second drawer of his desk. He still had… was it two? No, three. Three people working in the café whose contracts were still under negotiation. He supposed he’d have to give them the news. He pulled the drawer open, but misjudged his own strength, and it clattered out onto the carpet. 

“Oh,” he said, looking down at the discarded mess of papers and file protectors. 

“Shit.” Noct rolled out of the bed, and skidded through the pile to get to Ignis. “Sorry, Specs, I wasn’t thinking.” He dragged Ignis’ chair around, and grabbed him under the arms. “Come on, up.”

Ignis stood. He drifted after Noct as though in a dream, and when Noct directed him to the bed, he fell into it with little protest. Noct wrapped his arms around Ignis’ shoulders, and ran his fingers through his hair. 

“I’ll need to open the second floor in an hour,” Ignis said, muzzily. He held Noctis back, and bowed his head into his touch. 

“Then you have time,” Noct said. 

When Ignis woke, the pile of papers had been put back, his phone alarm was set for an hour after the second floor was to open, and he was alone in the room. Ignis rose, adjusted his wrinkled dress shirt and slacks, and hurried out of his room to find that the second floor of Shiva’s was already open, the curtains before the bedroom doors pulled back and the lights in the café twinkling below. He turned to Noct, who was leaning against the rail, shouting down at one of the workers in the dining room. 

“Hey, you,” Noct said. “Me and Aranea opened up for you. Loqi broke six plates in the kitchen, but that’s normal, and Cindy wants to know if she can do a five woman orgy but I said no, the rule is three—“ He gasped as Ignis pulled him into a crushing embrace. Noct patted him awkwardly on the hip with his trapped hands. 

“When the time comes,” Ignis said. “I will make you that pie myself.”

 

When Ignis came down to check on Aranea, he found that her hands were wrapped in gauze, and she was talking to one of the café waitresses about Ardyn’s arrest. 

“Yeah, so, big surprise,” she was saying, “turns out some people broke in at night, took out all his drugs, sent his people… somewhere… and just like, beat the shit out of him for a good half hour. Left him tied up on the bar.”

“Wish I could’ve been there,” whispered the waitress. She jumped when she saw Ignis’ approach, and ran back to the café.

“You’re well-informed,” Ignis said. Aranea tilted her head, not quite a shrug, not quite an admission. 

“Rumor travels fast. So, how’s it going, Boss?”

“Well enough.” Ignis leaned against the door, watching cars flick by outside. “Last night,” he said. “You had to call out rather suddenly…”

“Knitting circle,” Aranea said. Ignis raised his eyebrows, and she lifted up the red scarf around her neck. “My grandma teaches a class.”

“If you knew who… asked you to go to this knitting circle,” Ignis said. “Would you tell me?”

“Fuck, Ignis.” Aranea pulled out a cigarette from her pocket, and Ignis glared her down until she put it back. “I thought we don’t kiss and tell in this business.”

“And your knuckles?” Ignis asked. Aranea leaned over her podium, flipping her long ponytail over one shoulder. She kissed her knuckles and winked.

“Purling accident.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When the police come to her and Cor a few days later to investigate reports of a silver-haired woman and a middle-aged man leaving the Chosen Man the night before Ardyn was found, Aranea directs them to her 94 year-old grandmother: Nana Highwind, an ex-mercenary with a knitting circle consisting of her old war buddies, who all swear up and down that they were teaching Aranea and Cor how to knit beanies at the time. Aranea pulls out a knitting needle to demonstrate.


	7. Chapter 7

The week slowly dragged on, and still there was no sign that Gladio wanted to make good on his bet. Ignis suspected that this meant he would try something that weekend, when Shiva’s held their Nobility Night, and threw himself into planning. His kitchen and waitstaff in the café had gone up by half since Ardyn’s operation closed down: It seemed that Ignis’ reputation for taking in strays had preceded him, and he was swamped with job applications within a day. Loqi was given a pointless promotion to head dishwasher so he wouldn’t make a scene, and new uniforms had to be cobbled together from spares in the basement. 

Ignis sat on the makeshift throne at the back of the brothel’s small stage, and let Noct fix the crystal and wire crown over his carefully styled hair. Noct was standing behind him, already dressed in his prince outfit. He was surrounded by the lacy blue of Ignis’ gown, which was a sheer dress that fitted perfectly over his corset, high in the front and sinfully long in the back, with fake crystals sewn in like a dusting of stars. 

“I wonder what he’s planning,” Ignis said, as Noct grumbled his way through adjusting the crown. “You don’t know, do you?”

“I know as much as you do, Specs,” Noct said. “Okay, that’s as good as it’ll get.”

“Excuse me?” Ignis asked. Noct groaned and got back to work. 

“He’s not that bad, you know,” Noct said, after a while. “Gladio, I mean.”

Ignis twisted his right foot, testing the give of his high heels. “Yes,” he said, in a low voice. “I know.”

“The people at the Flower Shop,” Noct said, through what sounded like a mouthful of hair pins, “He treats them like family. Kind of like here.” 

“Oh, you can’t say we’re—“

“Yeah?” Noct let go of the crown. “What do you call us, huh?” He ducked around to the side of the chair, stepping on the hem of Ignis’ dress. “You’re the closest I’ll get to having a brother, Ignis. And maybe… I dunno, maybe I want you to be happy.”

Ignis placed a hand over his. “Noct. I _am._ ”

“Alright,” Noct said, but he looked away, like he didn’t quite believe him. “But keep your mind open, okay?” Ignis smirked. Noct hated having to talk openly about his emotions, and he knew it. If they went any further, the poor man might well combust.

“Open the door for me, Prince Noctis,” Ignis said. 

“As you wish, Your Majesty,” Noct said, bowing so low that his own crown risked slipping off. He pattered down the steps from the stage and through the crowd of workers dressed as nobles, princesses, and one unfortunate vampire with the cape removed. He gave Aranea a thumbs-up that wasn’t returned, straightened his jacket, and opened the door into the glow of Insomnia’s night-life. 

Ignis was helping one of his escorts with a broken garter strap when the first blare of horns broke through the night. Some of them sounded legitimate, deep and rounded, while others were shrill and ringing. He could have sworn he heard a bicycle bell in the cacophony as well, and the lingering hum of kazoos. He left the garter in Cindy’s expert care, and headed for the door. 

The horns sounded a second time, making most of the customers and workers alike jump. Then, just as Ignis was about to catch up to Noct at the foyer, he heard Gladio’s voice, so loud and booming that it was as though he were speaking into his ear. 

“The king of the wild hunt has come!” 

There was some cheering and scattered laughs from outside. Ignis stopped to compose himself. Gladio shouted again. 

“We come— _shut up, Nyx, you aren’t twelve_ —bearing a gift for your Queen.”

“Come out!” cried what sounded like a hundred voices, echoing off the walls. “Come out!”

Ignis sighed and hitched up his gown. When he reached the door, he was overwhelmed with raucous noise as the frankly enormous crowd in the street shouted and whooped. He felt his face freeze in a slight smile. 

Gladiolus Amicitia, crowned with rowan leaves and wearing armor that looked like it had been lifted off an ancient king of the wood, sat atop a black chocobo that blinked lazily behind its blinders. His employees stood around him, some dressed in wild, fey armor and monstrous makeup, some as more traditional fairies, with what had to be the entire clientele of the Flower Shop wedged in around them. 

Prompto, dressed as a squire with golden fairy wings twisting gently at his back, skirted around the chocobo to help Gladio down. The chocobo was led away by a worried-looking man in a “Wiz Chocobo Post” uniform, and Prompto stumbled after it, making soft distressed noises in the back of his throat. Gladio took a moment to steady himself before dropping to one knee in front of Ignis. 

“Your Majesty,” he said. 

Ignis managed, through sheer force of will, to keep a straight, level expression. 

“I have brought the wild hunt to your door,” Gladio said, “with an offering of peace.”

Behind him, Lunafreya, the pianist _and_ harpist, frantically strummed her lute. Gladio pulled out a poorly-wrapped pile of purple coeurl-print cloth, which he unfolded to reveal…

“Papers?” Ignis asked. 

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Gladio said. His mouth twitched, and Ignis could see the wicked humor in his eyes. He bent down, crooking his knee just so that the crowd could get a good look at the line of his back, and took the papers in Gladio’s hands. He straightened, skimming over them quickly. 

The silence surrounding them was punctuated only by quickly stifled whispering, making it sound like they were standing in the center of a whirlwind.

Ignis took a short breath.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” he said. 

“Funny thing,” Gladio said, in his normal tone. “Turns out Ardyn didn’t actually own the land the Chosen Man was built on. And no one wants it, not when the police stripped it clean earlier this week. The landlord was more than happy to sell.”

Ignis flipped a page. “I don’t—“

“I was thinking,” Gladio said. “A place like that, it just needs some paint, maybe a new owner. Someone who knows how to run a business. It could be a restaurant, maybe a bakery.”

“With a floral theme,” Ignis said, in a soft, faraway voice. 

“I bet there are plenty of people in that part of town who could use the work,” Gladio said. 

Ignis lowered the papers to his chest, and looked down at Gladio. He didn’t know what face he was making. He wasn’t sure how to tell anymore. He just knew that he was bewildered, and a little furious, and _happy._

“You do know,” he said, “that most people would send someone a card. Or flowers.”

“Honestly, I’m shit with flowers,” Gladio said. “Between you and me? I’m allergic as hell.”

Ignis laughed. It wasn’t the staged, cautious laugh he used at work, but something undignified and a little too young, full of wheezing and gasping. Gladio got to his feet and swept Ignis into his arms. 

“Shiva’s,” he shouted. “I have your Queen!”

The wild hunt roared, and Gladio led them, with Ignis sobbing with laughter in his arms, off to the Flower Shop. 

 

-

 

“Noctis! Noctis! Wherefore art thou, Noctis!”

“Right here, bro.”

When Gladio was halfway up the winding staircase of the Flower Shop, Ignis caught a glimpse of Prompto and Noct running for each other across the main room, followed by their curious fans. Noct attempted to pull Prompto into a hug, but Prompto pushed him to the floor and climbed over him, biting his neck as the onlookers shrieked with delight. 

“There’s _one_ way to celebrate,” Gladio said, as Prompto ground down on Noct, eliciting a low moan from Shiva’s ‘prince’ and excitable chatter from the onlookers. “If they fuck on the floor, I’m making Prompto foot the cleaning bill.”

“No, make them clean it themselves,” Ignis said.

“Oh, you _are_ cruel.”

“I have my moments,” Ignis said. He shifted in Gladio’s grip. “You can set me down, though.”

“I dunno, I’m kind of enjoying this,” Gladio admitted. He stopped at what had to be his private room, which had embossed gladiolus flowers on the door. “Hm. My hands are full of Queen. Could you—“

Ignis smirked and stretched out a foot, twisting the handle down between the arch and his heel. Gladio whistled low.

“You gotta show me how to do that,” he said.

“Gladiolus Amicitia in heels,” Ignis purred. “That’s an image.”

Gladio shut the door behind him with his shoulder, and let Ignis slither to the floor. 

The door rattled as Ignis shoved Gladio up against it. 

Gladio proved to be a magnificent kisser. He let Ignis take the lead, only parting his lips when Ignis explored his own, cupping the back of Ignis’ head so he could rake his fingers through his hair. Ignis felt his crown unhook from behind his ears, and lifted his own hands to take off the crown on Gladio’s. They stumbled uneasily to the bed, Gladio pressing his lips to the spot on Ignis’ neck that always sent an electric thrill over his skin. 

“We aren’t moving too fast, are we?” Gladio asked. Ignis laughed again, lower this time. 

“I don’t know how long I’ve wanted this…” He faltered, unsure. 

Gladio grinned. “I think we’re on first name terms, now.”

“Very well,” Ignis said. He started working on Gladio’s plate armor, unstrapping the buckles that kept it in place. “Gladio.” 

“Ignis,” Gladio breathed, and bent to kiss his collarbone.

They made it down to Gladio’s boots before Ignis lost patience, and dropped to his knees. Gladio moaned, and Ignis sat back to dig in his cleavage for a condom. 

“Really,” Gladio said. 

“Some of us have more than one use for our costumes, Gladio,” Ignis said, and pushed Gladio onto the bed. 

Gladio’s cock was as thick as the rumors made him out to be, though not quite as long as Ignis expected. He had to take him in slowly, inch by inch, eyes fluttering closed as Gladio held himself down so as not to buck up into Ignis’ warm mouth. He ran his tongue along the underside as he went down, and stopped when his lips met the base of the shaft. Gladio moaned again. 

“Fuck, Ignis,” he said. “You look…” His breath hitched when Ignis started a steady rhythm, adjusting as he learned what Gladio liked. 

“Not yet,” Gladio said, just as Ignis’ eyes were starting to water. Ignis pulled back, and looked at Gladio, lying on his arms with his face red and his chest heaving. 

“You want me to take you,” Ignis said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes. Fuck.” Gladio made a pleased sound when Ignis grabbed him by the thighs, pushing him back on the bed. He started to undo the top buttons of his gown, but Gladio stopped him. “No. No, keep it on.”

Ignis climbed onto the bed, holding up the hem of the dress to show his flushed, heavy erection. “Prepare yourself for me,” he said, ripping open the condom packet. Gladio reached for his bedside table immediately, and Ignis stroked himself slowly, watching Gladio lean against the headboard, two fingers deep to start, eyes fixed on his own. Ignis climbed over him, laving his tongue over the nipple just below Gladio’s eagle tattoo, and smiled at the hitch and stutter of Gladio’s breath.

Gladio was already a mess. Ignis could definitely see the appeal. 

“We should’ve done this before,” he said. “Why didn’t we?”

“Too stubborn,” Gladio said. “God, Ignis, just. I’m ready.”

Ignis shifted forward to kiss Gladio again, and he reached down between them to line himself up. Gladio was tight around him, but he rocked forward even as Ignis tried to take his time, and Ignis let out a small sigh at the feeling of Gladio clenching down on his cock. Gladio deepened their kiss, and rolled his hips, making Ignis pant against his open mouth. 

“Let’s hear you, Ignis,” Gladio whispered, and Ignis drew back to thrust into him again, harder this time. Gladio’s hands roamed Ignis’ body as he angled himself deep, massaging his pecs through the corset, gliding up his neck and shoulders. His grip tightened as Ignis pushed against his prostate. Ignis’ dress was hitched up around Gladio’s thighs, but Gladio seemed to enjoy it, grabbing fistfuls of the sheer material as Ignis hit his sweet spot again and again, driving him relentlessly towards release. When he wrapped his hand around Gladio’s length, Gladio tensed, and Ignis’ hips jerked. He groaned Gladio’s name into his neck as he came, and kept going, pushing himself to the point of discomfort, until Gladio came between them. 

He lay over Gladio’s chest for a minute, breathing hard, feeling Gladio’s heartbeat thump under his fingers. 

“So,” Gladio said, in a hoarse whisper. “What do you think of Wednesday?”

“What, in general?”

Gladio rolled his eyes, and brushed Ignis’ lips with a thumb. “For your day off. All things considered, I’m gonna take this as a win.”

“You cheated,” Ignis drawled, and kissed him on the cheek. “But alright. Wednesday. And I’ll need something to wear home.” He gestured to his ruined dress. 

“We have all night,” Gladio said, and rolled Ignis to his back, tangling them both in yards of lace and costume crystals. Ignis laughed again, just as helpless and free as the first time.

He could certainly get used to this.


	8. Chapter 8

Ignis Scientia placed his napkin on the table before him, and adjusted his water glass to catch the light. The Crownsguard, Ignis and Gladio’s first joint venture, had little resemblance to the bar it used to be. The rooms had all been gutted and rebuilt to turn the old building into a mimicry of a house in the style of the last century, complete with a retro landline phone that none of the employees actually used. It had also become a gathering place for a small contingent of the local police, which would have worried Ignis had they not taken a fierce and loyal liking to him and Gladio. They assumed that Noctis was Ignis’ younger brother, and Drautos, one of their regulars, pestered him about college so often that Noct started sneaking in through the kitchen until he knew the coast was clear.

“Look, I’m used to them locking us up,” he said, when Ignis caught him hiding behind a ficus plant one afternoon. “Not calling me _sport._ I have to draw the line somewhere.”

It was doing fairly well, for a business running out of the lower city. Most of the employees used to work at the Chosen Man, and Coctura, Ignis’ cafe manager at Shiva’s, had taken over as manager of the Crownsguard. 

“What do you think?” Gladio asked. He pushed his phone across the table. He was wearing what, to him, probably accounted as modest attire, but the button-up shirt he’d shrugged on that morning was sporting an appalling lack of buttons. Ignis glanced down at the site on his phone.

“Galdin Quay?” He said. “That's quite a drive.”

“Exactly,” Gladio said. “That’s a whole extra day without Shiva’s. No going over accounts. No dealing with emergencies…”

“Letting Noctis and Prompto set up a small theater in the middle of the street,” Ignis added.

Gladio raised his hands. “I know! There's no downside. Come on, Iggy,” he said, taking Ignis’ hand under the table. “It's a vacation, not exile. You've earned it.”

Ignis looked into Gladio’s large, pleading eyes, and cursed.

“Yes!” Gladio squeezed his hand, and they both jumped as their phone alarms went off at the same time. “Oh, hell, already?”

“Business before pleasure,” Ignis said, rising from his chair. “Come now, Gladio. The people of Insomnia aren't going to fuck themselves.”

Gladio groaned and grabbed his phone. “You ever going to let Noct live that down?” he asked.

Ignis smiled thinly. “Unlikely.”

 

-

 

“But Noctis,” Prompto said, writhing in Nyx Ulric’s strong hold. “I made a vow to the sea witch that he could have me if I could spend three days on land with you.”

“It's a binding agreement,” Nyx said, deadpan. On the couch behind him, where she had her arms around the musician, Luna, Crowe rolled her eyes. Luna slowly played “Mad World” on her ukulele as Prompto, wearing a cheap, glittery mermaid tail and impressive arm cuffs, ground back on Nyx’s lap. 

Or the approximate location of Nyx’s lap. The number of tentacles on his octopus merman costume was more than a little distressing.

Noctis fell to his knees in his tight-fitting sailor uniform. “Please,” he said. “Let him go. I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” Nyx asked.

Several members of the audience surrounding them gasped in shock.

“Don't do it!” someone cried.

“You can't,” Prompto said, eyes shining as Luna’s ukulele plunked into the chorus. “He has like, eight dicks.”

Nyx’s entire face locked up, and his shoulders started to shake.

“Prompto,” Noct said, with the grim determination of true love in his eyes. “I would take thirty dicks for _you._ ”

“Someone should stop them,” Ignis said. He was wearing his captain’s uniform, sitting on a wide throne with his legs draped over Gladio’s lap. Gladio was in little more than a glorified thong, dyed blue, while his legs had been painted to give the impression of scales. A trident leaned against the throne, and someone had thrown a net over the top of it for aesthetic purposes. 

“They're having fun,” Gladio said, as Noct straddled one of the tentacles and searched for Nyx’s cock through the zipper of his costume. “Let them.”

“If we get five thousand gil in the next minute,” Nyx said, setting Prompto carefully on the ground, “then I’ll let both of you suck me off for your freedom.”

The crowd, as one, fumbled for their wallets.

“It helps that they’re mercenary,” Gladio added. Ignis smirked, and Gladio touched his chin. “You don't think we should take a page out of their book? Put on a show?”

“I’ve had enough dramatics to last me, thank you,” Ignis said. 

“You? Enough?” Gladio kissed him, slow and deep, and Ignis melted into the sensation. His hands gripped Gladio’s hips, and he hooked one finger in the strap of his thong.

“You ain't fooling anyone, you know,” Gladio said, and leaned him back on the arm of the throne. Ignis’ legs wrapped around his, and his hands streaked glitter up Gladio’s sides. 

“Neither are you,” he said, and kissed him back. Before the throne, as Ignis and Gladio celebrated their best collaboration yet, customers and workers alike burst into applause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done!
> 
> I'm sad to see this one go. It was SO fun. I'm thinking I might do a bonus smutty version (since the smut in this one is surprisingly thin on the ground for a brothel AU) with Noctis and Prompto's terrible acting escapades, or Ravus domming Ignis and Gladio, or Luna finally getting some. What do you all think?


End file.
